


You, Me, and a Room Full of Mirrors

by thestringsthatbroke



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Best Friend Squad (She-Ra), Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Trauma, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs Therapy, F/F, Friends to lovers to exes to enemies, Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Lesbian Disaster Adora (She-Ra), Light Dom/sub, Mutual Pining, Power Dynamics, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Smut, Technically inaccurate ballet-speak, That's not a tag, Top Catra (She-Ra), Wannabe Top Adora (She-Ra), but it is now, everyone is human, lesbian awakenings, more characters and tags to be added, no magic, teacher's pet Adora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestringsthatbroke/pseuds/thestringsthatbroke
Summary: How many make-out sessions and drunken almost-fucks are you supposed to have before admitting you’re in love with your best friend?A few more, Catra decides.~When Catra and Adora first meet, they’re eleven years old and competing for a spot at the Horde Academy Ballet School. They spend the next seven years competing for the favour of their esteemed instructor and toeing the line between friends, rivals and something more.Then, the day after graduation, Adora snubs Catra and the company, and signs instead with the Brightmoon Royal Ballet Company.Catra makes it her mission to make her regret it.~Or, the Catradora Ballet AU I wrote instead of sleeping.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow & Glimmer (She-Ra), Kyle/Rogelio (She-Ra)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 209





	1. The beginning of the end (or the end of the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> As advertised, I wrote this A) instead of sleeping and B) to procrastinate finishing another fic I'm working on. Time will tell how long this will end up, but I've got at least a couple more chapters drafted up so I'm hoping to update semi-regularly.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> Explicit language, Shadow Weaver's emotionally manipulative parenting, dance-related injury, mentions of blood, compulsive over-exercising in later chapters.
> 
> There is no explicit sexual content in this chapter (but there will be in later chapters).

**Final Studio Rehearsal, Horde Academy**

_Present Day_

Adora does not break rules.

Never.

Except this one: she has juice in her water bottle.

She has juice in her water bottle instead of that disgusting green tea they’re supposed to drink during rehearsals, and she swears to god Ms Weaver can _smell_ it. Every time she reaches for it to take a drink, her tutor narrows her eyes at her as though she’s just kicked her dance partner in the balls or something. The bottle isn’t see-through, so like, there’s no other way the woman could know unless she’s cataloguing the looks on Adora’s face for signs of green-tea-induced misery each time she takes a swig. Adora just can’t stomach the stuff. Besides, she’s done the research (or, whatever, she saw an Instagram post one time), and some juices have just as many antioxidants as green tea, plus they don’t make her want to vomit-

“Adora!” Ms Weaver clips, as Adora tosses the bottle back into her rehearsal bag, “I said _take five_ not _take liberties._ Time’s up. Back in position!”

“Sorry ma’am,” Adora scurries across the studio to take her place in front and ignores the low snort of laughter that Catra lets out in response. 

For the rest of the rehearsal, when Adora so much as looks in the wrong direction, breathes during the wrong pause, Shadow Weaver is on her. Either Adora is _really_ not on form today, or Ms Weaver has some other reason to want to punish Adora.

Of course, it is possible that juice has nothing to do with Ms Weaver’s foul mood. There’s an acceptance letter burning a hole in the bottom of Adora’s rehearsal bag. It might even be the fanciest letter Adora has ever seen - it’s embossed in _gold_ , for heaven’s sake. It’s signed, in a beautiful curlicue script, by Madame Angella. Angella is affectionately known in some circles as the queen of The Brightmoon Royal Ballet Company. In Ms Weaver’s rehearsal studio, she’s known as the competition.

Could she know? Could Ms Weaver know that Adora Greyskull, who has been number one teacher pleaser her entire life, has finally stepped out of line, and _auditioned for the competition_!? No way. It’s impossible. No one knows she auditioned for BRBC. Not even _Catra_ knows - and she tells Catra everything. But then-

“Distracted today, aren’t you? Keep it up, Princess,” Catra whispers to Adora during their next partner sequence, cocky smirk masked under her show face, “at this rate I’ll be a shoo-in for Principal.”

She’s talking about the _one_ opening in the Horde Ballet Company for a Principal dancer. One slot that will be offered to the single most promising dancer of the graduating cohort after the end-of-term showcase in a few days’ time. That is, it’ll be offered to either Catra, or Adora. They’re easily the two most talented dancers to be graduating this year. There’s only one slot, though, and as she delights in reminding them, Ms Weaver gets to choose. The other dancer will be offered First Soloist, a lesser position.

So yeah, that’s causing some problems.

Catra’s right though–Adora is distracted today–and she nearly steps right through her next _jeté_. Ms Weaver, who _obviously_ notices, raises a single eyebrow in warning. Her death looks are almost as cutting as her words are. Adora suppresses a groan. They’re too close to show day for her to be making stupid mistakes like that. She hopes it costs her Principal, knows at least then Catra won’t be mad at her, and things might be able to go back to normal between them.

“Careful, Adora. Mommy’s watching.”

Over the years, Catra has perfected this subtle way of teasing Adora during rehearsals without Ms Weaver ever seeing that she’s moved her lips. Adora has no such skill, and knows it. She keeps her mouth closed despite the taunt, and tries to focus on the routine. _Mommy_ is the nickname Catra coined in their first year to make fun of Weaver (although never within earshot of her, lest they incite her wrath); sadly, she's the closest either of them have ever had to a supportive parental figure.

Adora manages to tune out Catra’s teasing for the remainder of the rehearsal. After enduring a fairly tame chewing out from Ms Weaver over her lack of concentration throughout the class, she goes straight to the dorms to get some rest.

The cots at the Horde Academy are hard and uncomfortable, and the dorms are overcrowded. The senior class consists of Adora, Catra, Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio, and they all share a dorm room. The buildings are so cold, too, that Catra and Adora would share a cot not so long ago, Catra crawling into bed with Adora soundlessly after lights out, and leaving just as soundlessly in the morning. They never even discussed it – never needed to – proximity between them felt as natural as breathing.

Then, one day around six months ago, Catra stopped. Adora never asked why, because that would have meant voicing something they’d never voiced before. Besides, she didn’t need to ask why. She knew. Catra stopped seeing Adora as a friend the day Ms Weaver made her the competition.

So Adora is left, freezing to death in the world’s hardest cot bed, feeling bereft of something she isn’t sure she ever had, and competing for something she isn’t sure she really wants.

It’s Monday now. They have dress and tech rehearsals for the rest of the week, before the showcase on Friday. Then this will all be over. Catra will be Principal, Adora will take First Soloist, and things will go back to normal.

She’ll never even have to consider accepting Brightmoon’s offer.

Unless Adora _does_ make Principal.

Then, things will get complicated. Or not complicated exactly, but difficult.

Then, juice in her water bottle will be the least of her crimes in Ms Weaver’s eyes.

And, in Catra’s.

* * *

**Audition, Brightmoon Royal Ballet Institute**

_Four weeks earlier_

The first time she dances for Angella, Adora remembers how dancing should _feel_.

Weightless.

It’s not as though she isn’t an excellent dancer, you know, and skilled. She’s trained every day for the last seven years of her life, ever since Shadow Weaver plucked her from a miserable childhood and gave her a purpose. She’s one of the best. It’s just that, so far, her seven years dancing at the Horde Academy have been characterised by regimen, discipline, _fear_ , even; while, of the thirty minutes she’s spent in the beautiful historic building of Brightmoon Royal Ballet, at least 20 of those minutes have been characterised by wonder. Nervousness, too, a little, but still.

Adora had practiced this same routine with Ms Weaver for her last solo recital at the Horde. Never once has she danced it so beautifully as she does for her audition with Angella.

Trust comes more easily to Adora than it ever has to Catra, but she wouldn’t exactly consider herself trusting. It’s something about the kindness in Angella’s eyes, or the sincerity with which she says, “Welcome, Adora.” The rumours are true, too: Angella is more queenly than anyone Adora has ever met, all pale pantsuit and sleek chignon of her.

“Thank you for having me,” Adora mutters, feeling inadequate next to someone so regal.

“Of course. We were surprised but delighted to receive your submission. You’re an excellent dancer.”

Adora had submitted an application to BRBC a few months ago. It was the day Ms Weaver announced there would be only one open slot for Principal dancer in the Horde, the morning after Catra's 18th birthday. The same day that Adora had come back to the dorms to hear Catra bawling her eyes out under the stream of the shower where she thought no one could hear. Adora heard. She will never admit this to Catra – they enjoy the competition too much – but Adora doesn’t want to win if it means that Catra looses. Applying to Brightmoon had been one of the easiest decisions she’d ever made.

Adora had muttered through her thanks at Angella’s compliment, and Angella had handed her over to two other students, around Adora’s age, for a tour of the facilities prior to her audition.

A girl with hair like candyfloss ( _No way would that be allowed in the Horde_ , thinks Adora jealously) and a guy whose leotard is prettier than any Adora has ever worn in her life show her around the colossal building and grounds. Their names are as sparkling as they are: Glimmer and Bow. They’re polite about the way Adora’s jaw hits the floor each time they enter a new room. They’re polite about how Adora wanders awestruck through the dorms as though she’s never seen a four-poster bed before (she hasn’t). They tease each other in a gentle, friendly way that makes Adora think of Catra, and not at all of Catra, all at once.

Adora imagines what it must have been like for them, growing up here in luxury, training under Angella’s gentle instruction. Glimmer is Angella’s daughter – the company’s princess, if you will. Despite the shock of jealousy Adora feels at her undeniable privilege, Adora can’t not like her. She’s funny, and goofy, and kind like her mother. She imagines herself growing up here, with them, creating healthy relationships not based on toxic rivalries. Adora has never considered before that Ms Weaver's way might not be the only way.

But anyway, all that fades into insignificance when it’s time for them to direct her back to the studios for her audition with Angella.

“I’ve seen you dance before, Adora; I attend the Horde’s yearly showcases,” Angella says. Adora chooses this moment to notice that Angella’s long fair hair has a faint pinkish hue, like Glimmer’s. “So I know that you have skill. What I would like you to demonstrate during this audition is that you have _spirit_.”

Spirit. Ms Weaver doesn’t instruct them on _spirit._ That’s not a dancing skill, is it? For the first time since she arrived here, Adora feels nerves getting the better of her.

“Don’t worry, Adora. I know that isn’t something that’s necessarily on the, ahem, curriculum at Horde Academy. It’s something that’s within you. When you love what you do, spirit is impossible to tamp down.”

She says it encouragingly, excitedly – not harshly as Ms Weaver would. Angella asks Adora to show spirit as though she already believes Adora can. It makes Adora believe it too.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay. You can start with the music.”

And… she does. She dances, freely, and without fear. She even thinks she might fumble a few of the steps, but it actually doesn’t matter because, for the first time, she’s feeling the meaning behind the movements.

Every anger and frustration she feels at Catra, Ms Weaver, herself, comes out in the dance as naked as flame.

She dances so weightlessly that by the time she finishes the routine, she doesn’t care about the outcome. It’s enough to have rediscovered the love she has for a craft she’s already given her life to.

* * *

**Final Showcase, Horde Academy**

_Present Day_

Adora tries to enjoy showcase week, really, she does. She knows this might be the last time she and Catra get to rehearse together.

True to form, though, Ms Weaver works them both hard in their daily rehearsals until their feet _literally_ bleed. Not that bleeding feet are uncommon for a dancer en pointe, just that Adora likes to limit the amount of bandaging her feet require wherever possible. She manages not to fuck up the dress run too badly, you know, stands in the right part of the stage and meets all her cues. After Ms Weaver rakes them over the coals with her post-show notes, Adora falls straight into her cot and sleeps like the dead.

The morning of the final showcase, Catra wakes her up by bringing her juice from the organic place across the street. It’s a quiet, thoughtful gesture the likes of which Adora has learned _not_ to expect from Catra. Not anymore.

She narrows her eyes, jokes, “Catra, is this poison?”

Catra punches her playfully. “I wouldn’t poison you, Adora. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d beat your ass.”

Adora laughs, despite herself, “Of course, silly me.”

“Uh, you’re welcome princess.”

“Oh, thanks,” Adora mutters, taking a sip, “Kiwi Dream?”

“Obviously.”

Catra knows her favourite juice combo… and she got up early enough to wake Adora up with it. There’s a pleasant flutter in Adora’s chest at this, one she didn’t think she’d get to feel again.

So they drink juice together, talk about the showcase, their routines, and carefully avoid the topic of the contract offers that will be posted in the dressing room later today after the curtain call.

Adora fixes Catra's hair for the showcase, in a twist of braids that Catra can never manage for herself, and Catra does Adora's makeup. The showcase goes off without a hitch. It's one last perfect day for the two of them. They both know, but refuse to vocalize, things might never be the same as they are right now. Catra grins at Adora from stage left during her bow, and there isn’t a modicum of malice in that smile.

Maybe things don't have to change, thinks Adora. Maybe their friendship is stronger than their ambition.

* * *

Then, Adora walks off stage to a piece of paper stuck to the dressing room wall, and under the word “Female Principal,” is _her name_ and _not Catra’s,_ and her heart splinters apart again.


	2. If this is my last night with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT:  
> This chapter will include (brief) references to emotional abuse, and to compulsive over-exercising. Please proceed with caution if those are things likely to upset you. The discussion itself if only a few paragraphs long, but there will be threads of references to these throughout this work. Take care of yourselves. xxx

**Fright Zone, near Horde Academy**

_Evening of the showcase_

“Let’s toast to Adora!” Catra yells above the music, slamming down a tray of tequila shots in front of them.

The showcase ended 45 minutes ago, giving Adora just enough time to get changed, touch up her make-up, and pile into the least glamourous bar in town, _without_ having time to think about the consequences of her name being written on that _stupid_ piece of paper. Drinking at the Fright Zone is a post-show ritual, and a time-honoured tradition that not even heartbreak can get you out of. Dancers who haven't reached drinking age drink cola and leave after half an hour, but they still have to show their faces.

The end of the showcase is a blur for Adora, even though it happened less than an hour ago. Everyone had congratulated her one by one, and she’d met them each with a brittle embrace and an empty smile, feeling as though she was looking in on herself from outside of her own body. Then, Catra had met her in a fierce hug, beaming with adulation and a whispered, “Congrats,” before going off to change, and Adora had been left standing dumbfounded, still, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting now.

She, Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio are all squeezed into their usual corner booth in the bar. Catra stands at the head of the table, centre of the universe as always, and lifts a shot in the air. They all look at one another, then at Catra, each disbelieving that Catra is _proposing a toast_ to Adora when she should be _out for her blood_. Adora has just taken the thing Catra has spent a decade of her life working for. She _can_ read, right?

“Take your fucking shots then!” Catra prompts, and if she notices the atmosphere, she doesn’t show it. Gaze unwavering, she waits for every one of them to claim a shot glass and raise it. “To the best Principal dancer the Horde has ever seen,” she says, eyes on Adora as she does. Adora shivers. The last time Catra looked at her like that… well, Catra hasn’t looked at her like that in months.

Adora won’t think about that now, though. She’ll drink, if Catra wants her to, poison or no poison. She’ll pretend things are okay for a little while longer, if that’s what Catra wants.

~

After several more rounds in the Fright Zone, Adora thinks she might be having a good time. The blonde hasn’t bought her own drink all night, her classmates taking her drink orders in turns. It’s a dumb tradition that the graduating Principals can’t buy their own drinks. Catra even hands her one, fingers brushing against Adora’s, the brunette’s eyes asking a teasing question Adora is too chicken shit to answer.

Catra has apparently reached the level of buzzed where she needs to dance it off, and she’s being more casually affectionate with Adora tonight than she has in months. Adora fears losing it too much to question why, afraid she might break some spell that’s settled over them.

It’s like a switch has flipped between them, and suddenly things are back to the way they were a few months ago, before Ms Weaver had announced that there was only one spot open for Principal and that the pair would have to compete. The game is over. Catra lost. Now, cruel and vindictive Catra is gone somehow, and in her place Adora has gotten back her friend - the best friend who isn’t really a best friend, not in the slightest. There are no words for what they are.

Or _were._

Or _are_ again _, apparently._

Adora doesn’t know. She and Catra talk about everything but their feelings for each other – that’s their unwritten rule.

But how can Catra be okay with losing?

Adora doesn’t care. As the night burns on, she lets Catra take her hand and pull her through town to the next club. Adora has too much grace and not enough street cred to pull out any half-decent moves on the dance floor, but Catra moves like an angel, as comfortable with Rihanna as she is with Tchaikovsky. More, even. Adora moves with her clumsily, too pleased to be this close to her to feel self-conscious. Their movements become closer, more teasing, as they dance together. Catra wraps her arms smoothly around Adora’s neck until they’re chest to chest, rolls her hips gently with the music while Adora tries not to melt into a puddle on the ground.

Catra has always been sexy in a way that Adora just _isn’t_. She’s wearing this wine-red lace bustier and a pair of skin-tight leathers that the Adora could never get away with, and the blonde might be jealous if she weren’t so enthralled.

That is the delicate nature of Adora’s relationship with Catra – 24 hours ago they were subtly undermining one another in a ballet rehearsal, and now they’re dirty dancing in a club Adora can’t remember the name of. Totally normal best friend stuff.

Later, when Adora excuses herself to grab a glass of ice water from the bar, she feels a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she’s facing Lonnie, whose narrow-eyed expression holds everything Adora does not want to be thinking about right now.

“What are you doing, Adora?” she asks. Adora has known Lonnie for as long as she’s known Catra. Lonnie doesn’t hold back her opinions.

“Uh, just getting some water…”

“No, not at the bar, with _Catra_. She’s been a dick to you for months.”

“Ugh, I know,” Adora admits, “I don’t know."

She _does_ know, it’s just not overly dignified to admit. It’s always been Adora and Catra _versus_ The World. Even when they’re fighting each other that’s still true. If that has to change now that Adora has been named Principal (and it _will_ change, Adora is sure) then Adora needs one last perfect night. She’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.

Lonnie must see some of this in Adora’s face, because she sighs, defeated, “Right. This is gonna end in tears. You think now that you’ve finally _won_ or whatever, this competition between you guys will end? You two are the definition of toxic, and Ms Weaver isn’t going to stop pitting you against each other now you’re out of training.”

“Trust me, Lonnie, I know,” Adora says, and she sort of does, even if she wishes it weren’t true. It’s the reason she auditioned for Brightmoon.

“So I don’t suppose you’re going to _stop_ dry humping her in the middle of the club?”

Adora has the sense to look embarrassed at this, but makes no response.

“Great. Good talk,” Lonnie says, rolling her eyes, “Just be careful.”

“Thanks Lonnie,” Adora gives Lonnie a hug, tighter than she usually would, and is reminded that it’s not just Catra she’ll be missing if she leaves the Horde.

When she makes her way back to the floor, Catra is dancing in a way that definitely seems private, but she’s drawn a crowd of onlookers that has Adora’s blood close to boiling with jealousy. Her arms are in the air, hips swaying like she’s fucking an invisible partner. She opens her eyes to find Adora, staring as though bewitched.

“Finally,” Catra mutters, grabbing Adora by her prim and proper collar (Adora dresses like she’s in prep school, despite growing up an orphan) and pulling her closer, snarking, “You know, maybe the bar staff would serve you quicker if you showed a little more cleavage, princess.” Adora realises she didn’t even get the water she’d gone to the bar for, and hopes Catra doesn’t notice.

“Maybe it wouldn’t feel so crowded in here if you _didn’t_ show so much cleavage,” Adora responds, trying not to feel possessive of the woman in front of her. That will only make things harder when she leaves.

“Are you _jealous,_ Adora?”

“No,” Adora lies half-heartedly.

“Jealous of me, or jealous of anyone looking at me?” Catra’s shit-eating grin is too much to take.

“Neither,” Adora insists, but the way her eyes caress Catra’s body as she moves betray otherwise.

“Liar.”

“Catra, I-“

“-You know what, no, don’t speak,” Catra interrupts her, “For once, you don’t get to ruin this. I have the upper hand right now _one time_ , and I’m keeping it.”

And then, Catra’s mouth is on hers, before Adora has the chance to say Catra is welcome to the upper hand, that she wouldn’t dream of ruining this - not tonight. At least, not until tomorrow.

They spend the rest of the night glued to one another, hands and mouths and minds exploring each other in a way they’re never brave enough to in private. Adora allows her hands to wind into Catra’s hair and stay there. Her ponytail and perfect pouffe are hardly recognisable, but for once she doesn’t care, because Catra has unfastened the first two buttons of her collar and is leaving harsh biting kisses across her neck that Adora can only hope will leave some marks.

There’s something so… anonymous… about kissing in a club, like they can do this tonight, but in the morning nothing has to change, and no one has to process the accompanying emotions. She and Catra haven’t kissed this much since Catra’s 18th birthday six months ago, and it’s exhilaratingly normal. Adora almost forgets that tonight is meant to be her goodbye. She still hasn’t made up her mind about Brightmoon. All she knows is that tonight has been perfect, that Catra is perfect, and that she would throw herself into flames sooner than see Catra hurt.

~

In fact, Adora doesn’t make up her mind about Brightmoon until later, as she holds back Catra’s hair while she pukes into a toilet back at the dorms. Adora curses herself for not keeping track of how much Catra had been drinking.

“Urgh,” Catra moans miserably after a few minutes.

At first, Adora thinks Catra is still puking into the basin, but then she hiccups and Adora looks down to see her best friend’s face is wet with tears.

“Catra,” she says, “You’re crying?”

“Yessiknow,” Catra half snaps half slurs, still draped over the toilet bowl, “No need to make a big deal about it.” Then she dissolves into fitful sobs. She sounds like a dying animal, and Adora’s heart aches for her. Adora is 99% certain that the only reason she’s being allowed to witness this is because Catra is, well, inebriated. Catra doesn’t cry in front of other people; doesn’t show any kind of weakness if she can help it. It’s why she’s been so obsessed with this competition between herself and Adora – to prove her own strength.

So yeah, if there’s one thing Adora was not expecting from Catra, it’s this sudden outburst of emotion… but then, she hadn’t expected to be making out with her in a club earlier that night, either. She twists the hand that’s holding Catra’s hair gently, and continues rubbing soothing circles on Catra’s back with the other hand. The brunette doesn’t say anything, just keeps crying softly, so Adora continues to soothe her.

After what feels like a lifetime, Catra speaks in a voice too quiet for her usually larger-than-life countenance, “I’m never good enough.”

Catra isn’t speaking _to Adora_ , she’s just speaking, so Adora says nothing. If Catra is choosing to be vulnerable for the first time in their seven-year friendship, Adora is going to give her the space to do that. She wouldn’t know what to say to make it better, anyway. The only way to do that is to remove herself from the game.

“Weaver told me I wouldn’t be good ‘nough,” Catra sniffs, “and she was right. Wish I could prove her wrong, jus’ once.” She laughs, bitterly, and it turns into a sob once again, “Been gettin’ up an hour earlier pretty much e’ry day, you know? Sometimes two. Running laps around the park ‘til I can’t breathe. Don’t stop ‘til I’m too tired to think anymore, sometimes ‘til I puke.”

Adora is too horrified to speak. The guilt swirling in the pit of her stomach feels as heavy as stone. Catra used to do this when they were younger, running until she was sick, whenever Ms Weaver chewed her out for being “undisciplined” or “insolent”. It’s crazy, not to mention dangerous, to add over an hour of cardio to a rehearsal day that’s already twelve hours long. Adora has spent a lot of hours over the years trying to convince Catra of this.

“Why?” is all Adora can say, and even that makes her voice crack.

“Because! Weaver said… that I would have to show dipsipline,” Catra’s wasted mouth stumbles over the word ‘discipline’ – go figure. “She said I might not even make _company_ if I didn’t.”

Weaver had threatened to drop Catra from the company? For what? For Adora? She and Catra are the best dancers at the academy. If that’s true, then Lonnie is right, and toxic doesn’t even begin to cover it. Ms Weaver is going to pit them against one another until one of them breaks.

“Jus’ want to be good ‘nough,” Catra mutters, pathetically. Adora has never been more resolved to _fix this_ for her as she is right now. Catra still won’t look at her, now cradling the toilet basin like it’s a pillow and she’s ready to fall asleep.

“You’re good enough, Catra.”

“Nope.”

“ _You are._ It’s going to be alright. I promise.” Adora will make it alright. This time tomorrow, Adora will have accepted Brightmoon’s offer, and Catra will be the Horde’s new Principal.

Catra hiccups. “’Kay, whatever, I don’t care,” she slurs, “Promise me something else?”

“Anything,” Adora insists.

“Don’t tell Adora I was crying. She deserves to be happy.”

And then Catra passes out.


	3. Dance me to the end of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes us back six months to Catra's eighteenth birthday. We'll see Catra and Adora begin to discover one another, and we'll see Ms Weaver do her best to tear it down. Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, things are going to get much worse for these two before they get better. I'm sorry. I've given you some smut to balance it out a little bit.
> 
> Title is a Leonard Cohen song. Sue me.
> 
> Content warnings: In addition to previous CWs, this chapter contains sexually explicit content, (some) poorly negotiated kink, (light) dom/sub dynamic, emotional abuse, manipulation, mention of dub-con (no actual dub-con, but it's mentioned by Ms Weaver) and mention of child abuse/childhood trauma.
> 
> If you want to read the smut and skip the abuse, just read the first section of this fic and I'll leave a brief description of the second section in the end notes.
> 
> Keep yourselves safe, and as always let me know if there's anything you think I need to add to CWs.

**Catra’s 18 th Birthday, Horde Academy Dorms**

_Six months earlier_

“If you adjust that ponytail one more time I’m gonna pull it off your head,” Catra cries, becoming more exasperated each time Adora’s hands reach up to alter the perfectly uniform bunch of blonde hair sitting neatly atop her head. They’re getting ready to head out to the bar, only Adora takes twice as long as Catra does to get ready. It’s not that she wears more make-up than Catra, or even that she cares more about her appearance, she’s just more _thorough_ than Catra is. For the last 20 minutes, Catra has been perched on the bathroom counter, legs crossed, watching Adora fussing at her appearance in the mirror

Adora smirks but resists the urge to smooth it one more time in the bathroom mirror. “That’s unnecessarily violent,” she chirps.

“Believe me it’s very necessary. I’ve been watching you get ready for 20 minutes and you still look the same.”

“Asshole!” Adora takes a half-hearted swing at Catra, who neatly dodges.

“Which is to say great, as always,” Catra qualifies and then, deciding that’s too complimentary to stand alone, adds, “Dumbass.”

Adora feels her cheeks heat and isn’t sure if it’s flattery or indignation, but either way she stops fussing with her ponytail. “Fine. Let’s go meet the others.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Catra drawls, hopping down from the counter and sweeping past Adora towards the door, flipping the blonde’s perfect ponytail as she goes.

Adora gets one more look at the flush that rises to her face ( _Oh, you are so far gone,_ she thinks to herself) as she follows Catra out of the door and into the night.

~

Adora and Catra are going to hook up tonight. It’s inevitable. When they get to the bar, any fool with eyes can see that they’re far more interested in each other than anything else going on. Catra hardly acknowledges the rest of the senior class when they wish her happy birthday. She gets in a round of drinks (for the first time with her real ID, rather than a fake) and sticks to Adora like a magnet. They haven’t been there long, but Lonnie has taken to miming throwing invisible stripper-dollars at them every time she sees them dancing together. It’s so inevitable that it’s boring, but the only two people who don’t seem to realise how inevitable it is are Catra and Adora. This is despite the fact that neither of them can remember the last time they’ve gotten drunk together _without_ getting at least semi-naked together.

No, those two morons are still skirting around each other, waiting for someone else to make the first move. Thankfully for them, alcohol is the great facilitator. That, and the fact that the bar is so crowded that they have basically no choice but to dance chest-to-chest.

They drink a little, dance a little, and can’t seem to help but gravitate towards one another. Once they’re both a couple of drinks down, they stop caring who notices – even each other. Even Catra, who usually likes to retain an element of plausible deniability about these things, has had her hand basically around Adora’s waist in plain sight for most of the night as they’ve been dancing. How many make-out sessions and drunken almost-fucks are you supposed to have before admitting you’re in love with your best friend?

A few more, Catra decides, excusing herself to get more liquid courage from the bar. Plus, when the feelings get a little too real, she can just tell herself it’s all about the sex. It’s not like anyone could deny that Adora is, like, objectively hotter than hell. So, when Adora bounds up to her at the bar a minute later, face flushed and skin jewelled with sweat from dancing, and asks “Are you having fun?” Catra shrugs and says suggestively, “I can think of better ways to spend my time.” Catra hates birthdays: Adora is 90% of the reason she’s agreed to celebrate tonight at all. It’s impossible to say no to Adora when she gets excited about something. Or at least, it has been lately.

Adora’s face drops at Catra’s words, missing the suggestive tone. Her hand, which had been on its way to rest on Catra’s shoulder, freezes mid-air. _For god’s sake_ , she’s like a kicked puppy when she’s disappointed and Catra can’t help but want to bend over backwards to put a smile back on her face. “You aren’t having fun?” Adora asks, looking worried.

“I didn’t say that, did I Princess?” Without thinking, Catra takes Adora’s floating hand and places it decisively on her own waist, which is exposed in low-rise jeans and a cropped t-shirt. It’s half because she _really_ wants to, and half to demonstrate to Adora just how happy she is to be here. She holds Adora there against her, not missing the flutter of a gasp of surprise that falls from Adora.

“So you _are_ having fun?” Adora attempts to clarify, tone turning more playful and less unsure, “You like spending time with me?” This would be a _very un-Catra_ admission to make, and Adora knows it.

“I liked it better when you were shaking your ass and not asking questions,” the brunette grumbles.

“You like it when I shake my ass?” Adora is wearing a grin the size of Etheria, looking far too pleased with herself for Catra’s liking.

“I like it when you shut up!” she snaps in response, but there’s no venom, and a smile buried underneath it.

“Make me, Catra,” Adora challenges.

_Oh. Okay._

So, like a woman who has never once in her life failed to rise to a challenge, Catra does.

She leans in, closing her hand around Adora’s wrist to pull her forward, and when Adora’s jaw drops in surprise, Catra holds it steady between her fingers to place her mouth over the blonde’s.

One kiss, long but soft.

Then another, this time deeper. Catra feels Adora open like a flower for her. Then, Adora tugs Catra through the bar and back out into the streets, entirely ignoring the wolf-whistle Catra would bet her life savings (all $10 of them) came from Lonnie as they passed.

No sooner than they leave the bar has Catra got Adora backed against the graffiti-strewn wall and breaks the spell of silence. “All fucking night I’ve been waiting for this,” she murmurs as she dips her head to litter kisses across the skin exposed by Adora’s off-shoulder sweater.

“Really?” Adora asks, grinning as she clings to the thin remaining thread of bravado under Catra’s sure lips, trying not to moan, “That’s so embarrassing for you!”

Catra gives her a playful nip in response, biting down on the skin of her shoulder, and Adora’s laugh turns into a moan. “You like that?” she replies, “That’s so embarrassing for _you._ ”

“Catra!” Adora groans, giving in. Dirty kisses in a dark side street are intoxicating – but they’re not enough.

“Yeah, princess?”

With an inhuman amount of self-control, Adora tugs at Catra’s mass of dark hair until her lips break contact with Adora’s neck and they’re eye-to-eye. “Let’s get back to the dorm before we get arrested for public indecency.” She doesn’t even know what she wants to do when they get back to the room – it’s not like they’ve ever _actually_ had sex before, as close as they’ve gotten. All she knows is that, whatever she wants, it’s probably illegal to do it in public.

Catra is unfazed. “You can’t get arrested for PDA, Adora, keep your pants on.”

“That’s the point,” Adora says, feeling surer, “I don’t _want_ to keep my pants on.”

 _Oh. Okay_. Catra stops arguing at that.

~

The dorms are a five-minute walk from the Fright Zone bar, but it takes fifteen when you stop every ten seconds to make out on every street corner. By the time they make in up to the senior dorm, Adora has given up on decency. She can’t contain the sounds leaving her mouth. The dorm is empty, which they’d expected, having just left the remainder of their senior class at the bar celebrating Catra’s birthday. They still have to watch out for the younger classes in adjoining dorms, plus the dorm parent asleep across the hall. This is something Adora knows, but can’t find the motivation to care about in her current state of enjoyment.

“Adora _shut the fuck up_ , you’ll wake up the dorm parent,” Catra chides, briefly removing her lips from Adora’s neck in response to a too-loud moan from the blonde. Somehow, they’ve managed to make their way to Adora’s bunk, Catra leaning over Adora, who’s on her back.

“I’m sorry!” Adora gasps, breathless, “But if you want me to be quiet you _cannot_ keep using your teeth like that!”

Adora feels rather than sees Catra’s answering grin against her neck, before the brunette continues to nip at the skin behind her ear. “You mean like this?” she teases.

“ _Asshole!_ ” Adora yells, hands finding Catra’s shoulders and shoving until she puts enough space between them to angle her own mouth against Catra’s harshly. She keeps pushing, mouth glued to Catra as she flips them over so that Catra is on her back with Adora leaning over her.

Catra only grins wider. “Now now, Adora, there’s no need for name calling.” Of course they’re both too Type-A to let the competition end in the bedroom. Fucking control-obsessed prima ballerinas. Nothing new there.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Adora orders imperiously, and Catra does because she wants to.

Determined to get a rise out of Adora and regain the upper hand, Catra slides her hands from Adora’s waist down to her denim-clad ass and squeezes, pulling her hips closer until Adora gets the message and begins to rock against her. Catra can top from the bottom. She can top from near-enough anywhere.

Catra encourages a steady rhythm, noting how the other girl’s movements become more erratic after a few minutes as Adora, straddling her, grinds her centre down against Catra’s toned stomach. They’re both still clothed, which would be a problem, if not for the benefit of added friction where Adora needs it most. It isn’t the most explicit thing they’ve ever done, but it’s glorious nonetheless.

As Adora’s moans and words begin to blend together into one unintelligible string of speech, Catra is gratified by the certainty that she could make Adora come like this, fully clothed and grinding against her desperately. She tells Adora as much.

“Could not!” Adora argues, struggling to keep her breath under control. Something (– is it the zip on Catra’s jeans?–) keeps brushing against her clit in a way that’s impossibly perfect. Rarely has she been so turned on with her clothes still on.

“Could so,” Catra assures her, punctuating the conversation with a particularly rough tug at Adora’s ass that elicits a perfect gasp. Catra chases those gasps, lives for them. She keeps going, murmuring, “Grinding against me so perfect and desperate. Can’t even wait long enough to take your clothes off. I can tell you’re close right now. Aren’t you?” Catra isn’t sure where this dirty talk is coming from. She’s never spoken to Adora that way before, but the way Adora moans in response makes her want to keep going. Her face is flushed red, eyes lidded.

“Answer me, princess. Aren’t you close?”

Adora looks ready to deny it, a little embarrassed, though she doesn’t slow her grinding. She looks breath-takingly breathless.

High on Adora’s soft moans and desperate grinding, Catra takes a risk. “Don’t be embarrassed. Answer me right now or I’ll stop and you won’t get to come,” she warns, digging her fingers into Adora’s hips so hard she might leave marks. For a second, she thinks she’s crossed a line. Fuck. She should have discussed this with Adora first, right? Negotiating kinks, she thinks it’s called. You can’t just threaten not to let someone come without discussing it first, even if you’re pretty sure they’ll like it.

There are a few seconds where Adora doesn’t respond and these worries run untethered through Catra’s head. Then, all at once the blonde gasps, “No I’m so close, _please_ don’t stop. Feels amazing.”

Catra grins.

She doesn’t stop.

* * *

**Senior Dorms, Horde Academy**

_The next morning_

When Catra wakes in her bunk the morning after her eighteenth birthday, she feels as though someone has taken a hammer to her skull. That’s how hungover she is.

She allows herself to cling for a moment longer to the dream – no, _memory –_ of Adora’s hands on her last night. Catra swears the only reason she goes out to bars anymore is because drinking gives her an excuse to touch Adora in the way she wants and not have to worry about the consequences. Even last night, _her eighteenth freaking birthday_ , going home with Adora had been the thing she most looked forward to.

Things have been changing between them recently. Catra can feel it. The first few times she and Adora had made out, well, it had been more about discovering themselves than anything else. Even the first time they’d been _intimate_ it was more experimental than romantic. They’d discovered their own bodies, and what they could do with them, and it was fun: that was all.

It doesn’t feel that way to Catra anymore. Catra can ‘get intimate’ with anyone she wants; she’s hot, she’s confident, she has the opportunities. She doesn’t _want_ to though. She _wants_ Adora. She just doesn’t want to think about what that means yet. Hence the string of tequila-fuelled encounters, pushing Adora’s skirt up her thighs in a bathroom cubicle in the Fright Zone, making the blonde crazy with want, and then heading back out to the dancefloor as though nothing had ever happened.

Yeah, it’s a shit show…

A shit show that Catra is paying for this morning, in her hard-as-granite Horde Academy bunk, with a ringing in her head she swears could wake the dead. Fuck, she needs an Advil. _That ringing!_ Is it ringing? Or is it yelling?

“ _Catra!”_

Jesus. Fuck. Yeah, it’s yelling.

She opens her eyes and the fluorescent lights assault her head anew. Ms Weaver is standing over her, of course, with a thunderous expression. The rest of the dorm is empty, meaning it’s rehearsal time already, and Catra has overslept. Why the fuck did no one wake her? They always wake each other for rehearsals, hangover or no.

 _Mommy_ is muttering something Catra can only half make out over the banging in her head about Catra being “completely irresponsible” and “wasting [her] potential”. Catra doesn’t understand. Their entire senior cohort had been off-their-asses wasted last night. They always get drunk on Friday nights, because Saturday rehearsals don’t start ‘til 12 instead of 7. That’s not against the rules, and they’ve never pulled anyone up on it before. What makes Catra so special?

The only thing she does know for certain is this: the only reason Adora could have for not waking her up for rehearsal is that Ms Weaver had _explicitly_ forbidden it. Adora wouldn’t fuck her over like that – none of the senior class would. Right?

Catra says as much, but Weaver simply shakes her head, spits, “Insolent child,” at her then points an imperious finger to the door. “My office please, Catra. _Now._ ”

Catra follows. She isn’t dressed, which makes this doubly humiliating. She sleeps in a pair of long shorts and a t-shirt – the shirt she’d thrown on last night before heading to sleep is Adora’s. Still, she manages to shove her feet into a pair of slides before traipsing reluctantly behind her instructor, so she isn’t barefoot.

There was a time when Ms Weaver had seemed to Catra to be a genuinely inspiring role model and a respectable authority figure. After all, it was Ms Weaver who gave Catra the chance of a better life. All those years ago at that first audition Weaver had looked at Catra, a scrawny wisp of a girl with more attitude than poise, and seen potential. Catra had never felt wanted before, had certainly never felt valued, and was _grateful_ to Ms Weaver _._ Even now she can’t put a finger on the moment their relationship soured, but she’d hazard a guess it was around the same time she and Adora became inseparable. Weaver never seemed to like that – it messed with her ‘divide and conquer’ tactics.

Ms Weaver’s office is on the other side of the building to the dorms, closer to the rehearsal studios. She all but _parades_ Catra through busy hallways full of younger students. They notice, point, whisper, which is exactly what Ms Weaver wants. In true Catra style, she leans into it, gives them a smile and a salute. If she pretends this doesn’t humiliate her, then Weaver doesn’t win. _Wish me luck, kids,_ she thinks to herself but is too sensible to say.

When they reach it, Ms Weaver’s office feels several degrees colder than the rest of the building. Catra wonders if it’s a quirk of the architecture or a result of Ms Weaver being a parasitic demon that saps energy from any room that she spends time in. Either way, it has goose bumps raising on Catra’s arms as she sits in the hard chair facing her instructor’s desk. She soon regrets sitting when Weaver opts to stand, resenting the satisfaction the woman must glean from towering over her like that.

“I’m disappointed in you Catra,” she croons, voice deceptively gentle, “ _Very_ disappointed in you. Do you know why?”

“Because you told my friends not to wake me, so that I would miss rehearsal?” Catra asks innocently.

Ms Weaver laughs, which Catra doesn’t like. “If your _classmates_ didn’t wake you, I suggest you look at yourself for a reason. No. Try again.”

“Because I had the audacity to go out and have a good time on my eighteenth birthday?”

“No, Catra. I don’t care about your social activities.”

“Oh really. Then what?”

“I don’t care about your social activities,” she repeats, before qualifying, “I _do_ , however, care about who you drag down with you through your poor choices.”

“ _Poor choices_? What the-”

“Adora, Catra. You’re dragging down Adora. When your dorm parent came to me this morning to tell me that you… and Adora _…_ _came home together,_ ” as she speaks, Ms Weaver’s face contorts in disgust as though that sentence is too horrific to complete. _Came home together -_ what a lame euphemism. So their dorm parent had seen she and Adora together last night (and hardly able to keep their hands off each other), and had ratted them out. Great. And Catra is in trouble for this instead of Adora, because Adora is the golden child.

Weaver doesn’t stop there, though, oh no; she keeps going, “She’s always been impressionable, and you’ve always been one to take advantage – regardless of her state of inebriation, and regardless of her _consent._ ”

It takes a few seconds for those last few words to fully sink in for Catra, so determined is she to dismiss every word that comes out of her instructor’s mouth. She finds herself unable to do anything but let her jaw drop. An hour ago, she’d have sworn until her last breath that the relationship between herself and Adora was both healthy and reciprocal. _It is_. However, sitting here now, with Ms Weaver’s accusatory stare on her, she’s unsure. _Is_ Adora into this as much as Catra is? Worse than that, does Adora somehow feel pressured into the physical aspects of their relationship? Had she been too domineering last night, had it scared Adora? No, she thinks, that can’t be true… but she’s not _certain_. Seeds of doubt, once sown, are difficult to fully remove.

“Don’t look so shocked, Catra. It’s time that you start taking some responsibility for your actions. Adora was quite distraught this morning. Perhaps that is why you didn’t get a wake-up call.”

“Adora was upset-“ Catra breaks in, confused at this news, “Is she okay?” _That’s_ really why no one had woken her? It could make sense, she guesses. She’d overstepped her boundaries last night, freaked out Adora. Catra drank easily double what Adora did, so maybe she _had_ lost track of Adora’s level of comfort – level of _consent,_ even. Oh fuck, what had she done?

“She is now,” Ms Weaver says morosely, “She took some talking down. You truly are disgusting.”

Ms Weaver is a homophobe, and a bully. Could she also be right though, just this once?

“Adora has potential. More potential in _one toe_ than you have in your entire body. You’re lazy and impertinent and you’ve proved that time and time again. _She_ is going to be principal dancer next year, and _you_ are going to be a failure. There is only one spot open in the company. I’ll be informing the rest of the class today during rehearsal.”

“No!” Catra can’t help but respond.

“No?” Weaver asks, calmly raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I won’t be a failure.”

“I get to decide that, Catra, not you, and at the rate you’re going you won’t even make _Company_ , nevermind Principal. If you truly want to prove to me that you can succeed in this industry, then I’m going to need to see some changes.”

Catra might not make Company? She knows Weaver doesn’t like her much, but she never thought she’d go so far as to not let her graduate. Horde Academy and Horde Ballet Company are all that Catra has, aside from Adora. Dance is all she has. If she looses those things, what will she be then? Nothing. Trailer trash, just like before.

“What changes?” Catra asks, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. She’s desperate to succeed, desperate to prove herself worthy. In the battle between fear and anger, she feels fear win out within her.

“In the studio, I expect engagement. No giggling, no talking back, no tardiness.”

“I can do that.”

“We’ll see about that. I also expect you to behave responsibly outside of rehearsal. I don’t want to hear that you’ve gotten in Adora’s way again. In fact, I don’t want to hear that you’ve been anywhere near her, frankly. I don’t trust you around her.”

After this conversation, Catra wasn’t sure she trusted herself either.

Pitifully, she replied, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. I’ll do better.”

“You must do better. Your future depends on it.”

Catra quickly catches a tear on her cheek before Weaver can see it. She will do better. There’s no other option.

Weaver nods. “Okay,” she says, “I’m satisfied. Get ready and join the senior class in the rehearsal room.”

“Yes Ms Weaver,” Catra mumbles, turning to go. She feels the tears welling up, but won’t allow any more to fall until she’s safely back in the dorms.

“Oh, and Catra?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Drink some green tea. It’s an excellent hangover cure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR: - Catra sleeps through rehearsal the day after her birthday, and is woken up by Ms Weaver, who calls her into her office and chastises her for having "distracted" Adora. She convinces Catra that Adora isn't interested in her, and threatens to not accept her into the company after graduation if Catra doesn't buck up her ideas (namely, stop talking back and causing trouble, plus stay the hell away from Adora). Upset, Catra agrees to change her behaviour and leave Adora alone.


	4. The morning after the night before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back in the present, and Catra is waking up to a new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Abandonment, emotional abuse and a lot of general angst (There's a running theme here).
> 
> Look after yourselves as always, and let me know if I need to add to CWs <3

**Senior Dorms, Horde Academy**

_Present day_

_Six months later_

_After the final showcase_

“It’ll be alright. I promise,” Adora had told Catra after the showcase.

Adora is as good as her word.

After putting a drunken Catra to bed, sleep feels impossible for her. She curls up with a cup of cocoa on the rec room sofa and cries.

She cries for Catra, her best friend and most fierce rival of seven years; the girl who has never once been told she was enough and _believed_ it. She cries for the girl who is happy for Adora at the same time that she is devastated for herself. Then, when she remembers, Adora cries for herself, too – for the decision she has to make, and the things she will lose as a result.

When she’s done crying, she has a plan. She’ll accept Brightmoon’s offer, and leave the Horde for good. She has to go and talk to Ms Weaver.

**Senior Dorms, Horde Academy**

_Present day_

_The next morning_

When Catra wakes in her bunk the morning after the showcase, she feels as though someone has taken a hammer to her skull. That’s how hungover she is.

Despite the pain, however, she can’t get this image out of her head: Adora in the club last night, buttons undone and dishevelled, unravelling under Catra’s practiced hands, and mouth, and body. Their bodies speak a language that their mouths have never been able to.

Catra had _kissed_ Adora; kissed away the last six months of fear and competition, kissed the “let’s have a reasonable conversation about our feelings” right out of her until nothing was left but the two of them and there was no room left for questions or answers. Catra basks in the memories of it for a few more minutes. God, they haven’t done that in… well, months… not since Ms Weaver threatened Catra with expulsion from the company.

Physical intimacy isn’t a ground-breaking development between Catra and Adora. A couple of women-who-love-women growing up in boarding school together spending hours per day in skimpy rehearsal outfits? Yeah, they’ve definitely done _a lot more_ than a make-out session and some dirty dancing on a Friday night. Adora wouldn’t even know what an orgasm _was_ without Catra. That’s not the point. It’s been almost six months since they’ve shared so much as a hug. Ms Weaver had made sure of that. Now though, the battle is over, and maybe the last six miserable months can be forgotten. If Catra hadn’t had so much to drink she’d spent the latter half of last night with her head in the toilet, they might have even had sex.

Then, the rest of last night begins to trickle into her consciousness. She remembers the tension of the last six months culminating in the most amazing showcase, and the shock of relief she felt to see Adora’s name and not her own at the top of that list. She couldn’t believe how relieved she’d felt. Hurt, yes; inadequate, yes; but most of all she felt _relief_.

Then, she remembers emptying the contents of her stomach into a dorm toilet and giving Lonnie some pathetically tearful bullshit about Adora getting Principal over her. Embarrassing. Even more embarrassing is the fact that, judging by her lack of memories, she more than likely passed out on the bathroom floor and had to be carried to her bed by Lonnie, too. She’s lost some weight recently, through stress or exercise she doesn’t know, but she guesses it means she can’t handle her liquor like she used to.

It takes another ten minutes until Catra is able to muster up the energy to get out of bed. The showcase is over, which means for the first time in a year, Catra has _a full day_ without classes or rehearsals. In fact, graduating seniors get a whole month to themselves until the company’s fall season rehearsals start. She and Adora had always talked about travelling during that time. They’d discussed Europe. All that had been forgotten during the last six months of rivalry, but Catra wonders if it’s not still too late to start planning.

She mulls over these half-baked plans as she grabs her shower caddy and goes to wash the beer mat smell out of her hair. Suddenly the world feels wide open to her in a way it seldom has. Catra can’t decide where she wants to start, but thinks getting juice with Adora is probably a good first step.

Adora isn’t in the dorms when Catra goes to look for her though. She isn’t at the physio bay, she isn’t in the mess hall (no one is; the food sucks), and she isn’t in the rec room. Kyle and Rogelio are lounging on the horrible sofas in the rec room, looking more comfortable than they have any right to be, and Catra wonders idly if something might have happened between them after she left the club last night.

“Anyone seen Adora?” she asks them.

The boys share a knowing look that Catra doesn’t like. Kyle was her dance partner last year so he knows her temper, and usually does his best to steer clear of it.

“She isn’t here,” Kyle says slowly, as if speaking to a child.

“Riight,” she replies, mimicking his tone, “So where is she?”

Kyle swallows before responding, and _he definitely knows something_ and Catra does not like the feeling this gives her. Is Adora avoiding her for some reason? Did she do something wrong last night?

Rogelio leans over to Kyle and says something quietly in Spanish that Catra can’t hear.

“I speak Spanish too, Castillo,” she snaps at him, “Speak up!”

“Catra,” Kyle says, too gentle for her level of hostility, but in a way that disarms her, “Adora left this morning. She took all her stuff, she- well, she _yelled_ at Ms Weaver. She’s gone.”

Catra has _yelled at Ms Weaver_ more times than she can count, so she doesn’t immediately realise what this means.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t know. But whatever she said to Ms Weaver made her angry. She wouldn’t even let Adora pack up her own stuff, she made Lonnie-“

“ _Catra_ ,” a deep, clipped voice calls her name, and the conversation ceases. Their esteemed instructor looms tall in the doorway. Catra wonders to herself if Kyle might have summoned her by saying her name, like a demon, or the Candyman.

Kyle braces for the telling-off he’s going to get from Ms Weaver for spreading gossip, but it doesn’t come. Ms Weaver is here for Catra, not him.

“Congratulations. Looks like you’re our new Principal after all. My expectations are low, but still, try not to disappoint me.” she says imperiously to Catra, before turning on her heels.

Dazed, Catra follows her instructor out into the corridor.

“What do you mean?” she calls after her, “ _Adora_ is principal. I thought-“

“ _Adora_ is ungrateful and disloyal,” Weaver sneers, and Catra is sure she relishes in being the one to tell her, “She has resigned from the company.”

Catra takes a second to work out if Ms Weaver really meant to say _those_ words in _that_ order. It doesn’t make sense.

“What? She wouldn’t do that,” Catra argues.

Weaver just laughs.

“I can’t say I’m surprised she didn’t have the decency to tell you. I had thought her more sensible than to be seduced by a generous advance from Brightmoon, but girls who grew up like you two did are never rational where there’s money involved.”

“She’s gone to _Brightmoon_?” Catra can do nothing but repeat this detail, hoping it’ll make more sense on her own tongue. It doesn’t.

“That’s what I said,” Weaver snaps impatiently, “Don’t pretend to be sorry.”

Catra snorts, intending to argue, but Ms Weaver cuts her off again.

“You’re Principal now. This is a better outcome than you ever could have achieved for yourself. You must endeavour to deserve it.”

Again, Catra opens her mouth to respond, but she’s cut off.

“-I don’t have time to discuss this with you Catra, I’m not your therapist. Just know that from now on, my eyes will be on you more than ever.”

She turns and stalks away, leaving Catra to her own disordered thoughts.

~

When Ms Weaver leaves her, Catra rushes straight back to the dorms. Whether to find more answers about Adora, or to be somewhere she can cry in private, she doesn’t know. Either way she’s more than grateful that she doesn’t run into anyone else on the way. Her current emotional state is definitely ‘punch first, ask questions later’, so it’s better for everyone that she be alone right now.

Without consciously deciding, she goes to Adora’s bunk first. _Where Adora should be._ It looks normal at first glance – the dorm parent likes their bunks kept neat, and Adora keeps hers neater than most. Not counting her rehearsal gear, she owns hardly anything. She even donates her books to goodwill once she’s finished reading them.

The only identifying feature to this bed she’s spent half her life in is a bit of graffiti by the headboard where Catra once scrawled ‘Catra rools, Adora drools’ in sharpie. The way it looks right now, there’s no reason for Catra to believe Adora has left and isn’t coming back.

It’s not until Catra throws open the chest at the foot of the bed and finds it empty that she knows it’s all true.

A wave of scent radiates out of the chest from Adora’s perfume. Clean Cool Cotton.

Ms Weaver is right and Adora is gone. Kyle had tried to tell her too.

A tendril of pure ice weaves its way around Catra’s heart and squeezes. She doesn’t know why Adora let Catra kiss her last night, and she doesn’t want to know. Just like always, Catra is second choice to Ms Weaver, second choice to Adora, and has no one to trust but her own judgement.

That’s fine.

~

Later, Catra finds her phone next to the sink in the dorm bathrooms, where she guesses she left it last night while emptying the contents of her stomach. When she charges it and powers it on, she has twenty-five missed calls, a bunch of voicemails and some texts.

_A: Catra? Please pick up._

_A: I know Weaver’s probably going to tell you but I want to explain it first._

_A: Don’t hate me until you let me explain._

_A: Please pick up the phone_

_A: Or call me_

_A: Please_

The texts confirm what she already knows. She deletes them, one by one, then deletes the voicemails without listening to them. Her phone sends read receipts so she knows Adora will know she’s seen them. She does not pick up the phone. She does not call back.

Lonnie comes back later that day after helping Adora move her stuff. She tries to tell Catra about what happened that morning, but Catra cuts her off.

“Please, save your breath. I already know. And I don’t care,” she says, strapping on her running shoes.

She’s out the door before Lonnie can say another word.

~

Adora keeps calling her incessantly for the next week, desperate to give the explanation Ms Weaver had prevented her from giving. Finally, in a fit of anger, Catra answers.

“Adora,” she says, “Stop calling me, it’s pathetic. You leaving is the best thing that could have happened to me. _Move on_.”

And that’s it.

She hangs up, having hurt Adora in the most concise way she could think of.

And Adora stops calling.


	5. This is what happy feels like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora has a new life. How long before the old one catches up to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Shorter update this time - next chapter is gonna be huuuuge and full of angst, because it's been Christmas and that's when angst seems to be easiest to write. It's my fave chapter so far and it's nearly finished so it'll be out very soon.
> 
> There are no new CWs for this chapter.  
> Title is from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and, again, I invite you to sue me.

**Brightmoon**

_One month later_

_Adora starts at BRBC_

Brightmoon Royal Ballet Institute is on the complete other side of the city to Horde Academy, but it might as well be another planet. Excited to have her own space for the first time in her whole life, Adora opts to rent an apartment rather than taking company accommodation. Besides, living in company dorms will remind her too much of Horde Academy, and a certain gorgeous heterochromatic brunette she left behind. Her advance from BRBC is generous, but in this part of town, the apartment it gets her is far from luxurious by most people’s standards. For Adora, however, who has spent most of her life sharing a dorm that can most accurately be described as ‘military’, it’s a palace.

In total, it probably has less square footage than even BRBC’s smallest studio. It consists of a small bedroom, an even smaller bathroom, and a kitchen-living area. The bed looks like it’s seen better days, and Adora spends a whole day when she first moves in scrubbing at mould in the bathroom. Once the smell of cleaning products replaces the smell of dust and damp, she’s satisfied.

Adora can only sparsely populate the tiny apartment with her limited belongings. By way of decoration, she has a clock on the wall, and a potted plant which she places by one of the apartment’s two small windows.

The plant is a housewarming gift from Lonnie – the only member of the Horde who still answers Adora’s calls ( _“I figured you’d need something to take care of,” she’d told Adora cryptically)_. Adora waters and feeds it religiously, because, of course she does.

For the first week after her phone call with Catra, watering the plant and ordering takeout was basically all Adora could convince herself to do, before skulking back to bed to binge watch true crime shows. After a week of this, and some reassurance from Lonnie, Adora convinced herself to do a little more. She put on her running shoes and went for a run in a public park that’s better known for its topiary than its body count. It’s a change from her runs in the Fright Zone area, where her running route would regularly be redirected by police tape. Then, when she’s finished, she has the choice of _three_ organic juice bars that are within walking distance of her apartment. They’re more expensive than her old regular place, and somehow not as nice, but she’s not going to chance going anywhere near Horde Academy just yet.

Plus, Brightmoon is _nice_.

It’s difficult not to be charmed by it. Once charmed by it, it’s difficult not to want to explore.

So Adora does.

This place might not be home yet, but even Adora can see why people want to be here. There’s no denying it: Brightmoon is a Nice Place To Live™.

Before Adora knows it, four weeks have flown by, she’s still alive, and she’s stepping through the grand archway of the Brightmoon Institute for the second time.

Before she’s formally inducted into BRBC in the fall, Adora has a few weeks of “intro classes”. All the graduating seniors joining the company do. They get everyone used to the company’s warm-up routines and rehearsal schedules before the pressure really hits in the Fall. Brightmoon is more traditional than the Horde, and they have a rule that graduating dancers perform a season as First Soloist before they’re considered for principal.

Staying out of the spotlight for a little while suits Adora just fine. Already, she has all eyes on her during rehearsals for being the new kid, and a Horde defector at that. After they see her dance, the attention only increases. Adora knows she’s good, but she doesn’t know quite _how_ good until she sees how the other dancers react to her. From then on, she places herself towards the back of the class and tries to just blend in.

Bow and Glimmer–the sparkly folks she met at her audition–are also in Adora’s intro classes, so she guesses they must be graduating seniors too. Adora appreciates that they don’t gawk at her in horror the same way the other dancers do.

What she _doesn’t_ appreciate immediately, however, is how unbelievably friendly and welcoming and _open_ they are. It’s a language Adora doesn’t speak, and it overwhelms her.

Adora is stretching out her calves on the first day of intro sessions when she hears, “ADORA!” yelled at her from across the room. A rabbit caught in headlights, Adora’s head snaps up to see Bow charging his way across the studio. He instantly envelops her in a hug, which she reluctantly returns. Adora has never been a hugger, but she admits it’s pretty nice once she relaxes into it.

“It’s so great to see you! I told Glimmer that I had a good feeling,” he tells her warmly as he releases her. He’s wearing low-rise sweatpants and a loose-fitting red crop top over BRBC’s standard-issue black rehearsal gear. Adora decides outfit envy must just be an occupational hazard of being friends with Bow.

“He did tell me that,” says another twinkling voice from behind her. It’s Glimmer, who appeared so soundlessly she might have teleported. She, similarly, is dressed more for a music video than a barre class. Adora is underdressed in her plain leotard and rehearsal skirt. She’s also freezing cold – she isn’t used to rehearsing in 150-year-old buildings.

“Thanks,” Adora mutters, uncomfortable with any attention, good or bad, and feeling out of place next to this glittering pair, “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Come and stretch with us!” this time, it’s Glimmer who enters Adora’s personal space, taking her hand to pull her across the studio, “Bow’s legs are too long to do any partner stretches with me, but maybe you’re more my size. How tall are you?...”

Bow and Glimmer are what Catra would call ‘aggressively nice’. As it turns out, Adora’s legs are almost as long as Bow’s, so _he_ becomes her stretching partner instead of Glimmer. Glimmer stretches on the barre and critiques their form. It’s weirdly comfortable between them all. They ask Adora how she’s finding the neighbourhood, give her restaurant recommendations she doesn’t ask for, and within 48 hours have added her to a group chat with only the three of them titled ‘Best Friend Squad’. They invite her to a party that weekend at some choreographer’s town house, and then insist that she _has to_ come when she begins tentatively to decline.

 _So that’s it then?_ she finds herself thinking, _New company, new best friends, new happiness._

In one day, she’s erased the past seven years and replaced them with something new. New and better? She doesn’t know.

As well as adjusting to her new self-appointed best friends, Adora has appointments with the company’s physio three times in that first week of classes. The physio is a real hippy type–her name is Perfuma–and she gasps in actual horror the first time she gets a look at Adora’s feet. After that, Adora isn’t allowed to go running for a few weeks, and is told to limit pointe work to twice a week until the bruises on her feet heal. Perfuma is ‘aggressively nice’ too (Adora can’t even use that phrase in her own head without hearing it in Catra’s voice). While Adora isn’t allowed to run, Perfuma tells Adora she’s more than welcome to join her morning yoga sessions. Adora actually does one day, and finds Perfuma to be as attentive a yoga instructor as she is a physiotherapist.

When Adora sees her feet actually begin to heal, she realises how punishing she’s been with her own body for the past seven years. Adora can’t remember a time when she didn’t have bruised feet; in the Horde, pain is just a part of the process. If you bruise your feet, then you tape them up and you pop some pain killers.

The longer she spends with BRBC, the more the flaws of everything she’s been taught at Horde Academy begin to reveal themselves. It’s not that they didn’t cover theory in enough depth, or that Ms Weaver didn’t coach her to hone an incredible level of technical skill. To the outside world, The Horde is Excellent™. They produce stunning dancers, and breath-taking avant-garde performances - they also teach children to become machines. Adora will spend years trying to train that instinct for self-sacrifice out of herself, and she might never fully succeed.

Adora thinks about Catra all the time in that first year or so. Pride stops her from calling. She hopes Catra thinks about her too, but from the string of girls that make an appearance on Catra’s Instagram, it seems she doesn’t. Even this doesn’t stop Adora from calling Lonnie for updates sometimes, when she’s lonely in her tiny apartment after a long day of practice. What Catra doesn’t know won’t stroke her ego, Adora figures. Lonnie goes along with this for the first few months, but her recounts of Catra’s wellbeing become more and more vague as time goes on. Clearly Lonnie realises how fucking unhealthy it is for Adora to be continually checking up on the girl who broke her heart, even if Adora doesn’t.

“Listen, Adora, I don’t wanna say that Catra’s a monster who doesn’t deserve your concern, but… well, Catra’s a monster and she doesn’t deserve your concern,” Lonnie says on the phone one night, when Adora tries yet again to coax some details from her.

“I’m not concerned!” Adora replies defensively, schooling her expression into something like ambivalence, before remembering that Lonnie can’t see it, “I’m just, I dunno… I’m curious.”

“Right.”

“ _I am!_ ”

“Adora, there’s curiosity, and then there’s self-sabotage. Didn’t you say your friends invited you out tonight?”

“Sure, but-“

“But what? You’d rather stay home alone and worry about a girl who has never worried about anyone else, ever in her life?”

“That’s not fair, Lonnie.”

“Live your life Adora. You’re missing it.”

Adora sighs. She knows that Lonnie’s right – about needing to move on at least, _not_ about Catra being a selfish asshole.

Adora worries for Catra though, still straining under the Horde’s strict regime. Catra, who bleeds red the same as everyone else, despite how she might hide it. The Horde is an unhealthy environment Adora wouldn’t wish on anyone, but Catra has made her choice, hasn’t she? She’s is principal now, and that’s all she’s ever wanted. She said as herself. Adora has to accept that. Adora has to move on.

It takes a while but, eventually, she does. She says _yes_ when Bow invites her out for drinks. She carefully avoids mention of Catra whenever she speaks to Lonnie. She focusses on dance, her performance improving with every week she spends at BRBC.

In fact, Adora has _finally_ stopped checking up on Catra’s whereabouts when Catra decides it’s time to check up on Adora…

The world is shitty like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write this for fun, and mostly for myself, but comments and kudos are always appreciated. :)
> 
> Stay safe, see you soon.


	6. With enemies like these, who needs friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since she left the Horde, and tonight is a big night for Adora. Huge, in fact. She's nervous. Only, she doesn't even know the half of it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some new CWs for this chapter.   
> CONTENT: Mentions of clinical anxiety, and actual drug use.  
> Let me know if there's more you'd like me to add.
> 
> I'm excited for this one. Here we go lads....

**Brightmoon Institute**

_One year later_

Adora will never get used to attending these fancy-shmancy company events, as long as she lives. Being a company dancer is not like being an academy student. Even at Brightmoon, dancers are expected to engage with company politics, attending press conferences, fundraisers and social events, ingratiating themselves to potential sponsors. It’s the only part of the job, and the lifestyle, that doesn’t come naturally to Adora. She fumbles her way through galas and fundraisers, mostly sticking to Bow or Glimmer, who are more than happy to do most of the talking. It’s a small price to pay, she supposes, for the career of her dreams. As long as she gets to show up and dance every day with her friends, Adora could put up with almost anything the company could throw at her.

_Almost_ anything.

Launch events like the one taking place tonight happen at the beginning of each season. They take place in the Institute’s library – a set of rooms filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of every set of choreography, every book of music, every performance programme the company has ever used. The walls that aren’t covered by antique mahogany shelves are plastered with photographs, press cut-outs and awards from the last 100 years of exceptional ballet. Every dancer, director, choreographer or tastemaker of any renown attend, to see Angella introduce to the world the newest season’s principal dancers.

If this isn’t intimidating enough, then having to wear a cocktail dress definitely is. The dress Adora’s wearing tonight is 70% too pink and sparkly for her own taste, but she borrowed it from Glimmer, so she can’t complain. It’s a baby pink one-shoulder affair, that she’s had to alter at the waist and hips to fit her smaller frame. Adora is a little taller than Glimmer, too, so the hemline comes up quite short on her, showing off her toned legs.

Despite Glimmer’s protestation, Adora won’t wear her hair down under any circumstances, but she does commute her usual high ponytail to a French braid, which twists down her neck and across her shoulder. Tonight is a special occasion, after all.

It’s the first company event Adora is attending as a principal dancer. She was fortunate enough to be promoted at the end of the last season. Advancing so quickly as a company outsider is basically unheard of, and Adora couldn’t be happier. The promotion comes with a generous salary increase and, more importantly, it comes with the role of a lifetime: the chance to star in a brand-new composition. Mermista, the company’s most eccentric choreographer, has been working on the brand-new piece for years, and has finally announced its completion. Tonight, Angella will announce the new piece to sponsors and the press, and will introduce Adora: newly-minted principal and _the freaking lead_ in Mermista’s upcoming ballet.

Now, make no mistake, Adora is excited about this. Mermista’s work is the raw cutting edge of the ballet world. The chance to originate a lead role in one of her productions is a fucking dream come true. She can’t wait to start rehearsing.

However, that doesn’t mean she has to be excited about parading around at this party for the press and the rich folks. Adora gets through these things in the same way each time: she pops a couple of pills of her anxiety meds, and cradles the same glass of champagne for the whole night without ever taking a sip. She keeps in control.

The minute she arrives, she’s already dreading the moment that Angella will make the announcement. Her usual dance partner Swifty (okay, his name is Horatio, but Swift is his last name and Bow likes to nickname people) swears he hasn’t been cast as the male lead.

“Sweetie, you know I’m a bragger,” Swifty tells her when she asks him for the second time tonight, “Do you think I’d be able to keep my mouth shut if it was me?”

He’s right, Adora guesses. Swifty has custody of Adora right now, because Bow and Glimmer are on a bathroom break. They’re standing together in the corner of the room, and Swifty has angled Adora in front of him so that nobody will spot him tipping a baggy of some kind of narcotic into his champagne flute. Adora goes along with this reluctantly. He’s a good friend who’s a little too partial to mind-altering substances. This isn’t unusual.

“It takes a couple hours to peak, so by the time we hit the afterparty I’ll be where I need to be. You sure you don’t want any?” he asks her.

“As always, no,” Adora says drily, “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

Why this man isn’t principal dancer material Adora will never know.

By the time Bow and Glimmer get back, Swifty is telling her about some creepy guy he went on a date with last week, and it’s kind of working to take Adora’s mind off tonight. He’s a really good storyteller. Then, Bow and Glimmer join in the conversation, each offering their own tribute for the title of ‘Worst Date Ever’. Adora, perpetually single (or at least since joining BRBC), dubs herself judge of this ad-hoc competition, and interrogates each of them to determine a winner. Mercifully, she’s laughing too much to have time to worry, so it’s another hour or so before Adora remembers she’s supposed to be nervous about something.

When she remembers, her worries come rushing back. If it isn’t Swifty, Adora has absolutely no idea who she’ll be sharing the spotlight with tonight.

She hopes it’s someone who doesn’t mind fielding most of the conversation with the press.

All eyes on Adora on a stage? No problem.

All eyes on her at a party? Worst nightmare.

She finds herself fantasising about what extremely unlikely event might take place to draw attention away from Adora and towards someone else. Could someone faint? Fire alarm? Ceiling collapse?

_Anything?_

Later, she’ll look back on that thought and wish she’d been careful what she wished for, because when Angella makes the announcement, god damn, does Adora get more than she bargained for.

Here’s how it goes down:

It’s later in the evening than usual when Angella decides to make the announcement. It’s as though she’s waiting on something, or someone, before the announcement can be made. Adora already knows she’s got the lead. Mermista told her as much at the audition. She doesn’t know yet who else has been cast – only that both Bow and Glimmer have been cast as soloists. Adora is too nervous to find the delay odd, but Bow and Glimmer discuss it with open confusion.

“She hasn’t made the announcement yet – I don’t get it, the press have been waiting for an hour and a half.”

“I know, I don’t get it either, mom won’t even tell _me_ about casting. It’s like Mermista has had everyone sworn to secrecy. We don’t even know the _plot_ of the new piece. You sure she didn’t say anything to you when she gave you the part, Adora?”

Adora is counting to 100 in her head, until Glimmer’s voice pulls her out of her own thoughts.

“Huh? Oh. No, nothing. I only know my own character - She-ra, an alien princess leading a rebel alliance against an oppressive military regime.”

“How does she even think of this stuff?”

“Shh, Glimmer, I think your mom’s calling us over.”

Sure enough, Angella has taken position on the dais at the far side of the room and is tapping a champagne flute with a spoon to get everyone’s attention. Called to heel, Adora reluctantly makes her way over, cringing at the feeling of critical eyes on her back as she goes. Regardless, she moves with poise. She’s a principal dancer, after all. Until she turns 30, she’s a god to these people.

Angella gives Adora a gentle smile that tells her the woman knows exactly how Adora feels about these events, and that she’s going to try and make this as painless as possible for her. Adora sends a smile back that she hopes conveys her gratitude. She deliberately keeps her eyes on Angella rather than the rest of the room, pretending as much as she can that no one else is watching. It’s this deliberate inattention that causes Adora to miss the newest arrival to the party. Not that knowing any sooner would have made a difference. It’s already too late for Adora to stop what’s tunnelling towards her now. Angella speaks.

“Friends, colleagues and honoured guests; we thank you for being with us this evening and for remaining patient. We know you are all eagerly awaiting this announcement, and I am sure it will not disappoint. It is with great pleasure that I can announce the brand new production opening our upcoming season. The new piece, titled _She-ra and the Princesses of Power_ is a masterpiece of our very own choreographer, Mermista. It is a story of conflict, of love and of friendship, and as such we have seen it as an opportunity to address some conflicts of our own.”

Adora listens intently. She wasn’t lying to Bow and Glimmer; she really does know hardly anything about this new production. A shape in the periphery of her vision catches her eye and tugs on a memory, but Adora doesn’t have the brain space to turn and look right now. Angella is about to announce the casting, and that means that even more people will be looking at Adora. She remains focused on Angella.

“As our leads, we cast two of the most exciting young dancers the city of Etheria has to offer. Originating the role of Princess She-ra, may I present from under our very own roof, Adora Greyskull.”

Adora smiles her practiced, gracious smile and finally casts her eyes out to the gathered audience. She meets the eyes of Bow and Glimmer towards the front of the crowd, who clap the hardest and cheer the loudest. Glimmer wolf-whistles until a stern glance from her mother shuts her up. Then, as Adora’s gaze continues along the rest of the crowd, that familiar shape that’s been hovering in her periphery finally comes into focus, and she stops.

Her jaw hits the floor.

Because there, leaning casually against a hundred-year-old mahogany bookshelf with all the poise and grace of someone who absolutely is supposed to be here, is Catra.

She’s wearing a burgundy suit that hugs her body so well Adora is certain that no one has ever worn formal-wear so well in the history of the human race. One, two, three shirt buttons are undone, and a black bowtie hangs loose around her shoulders.

Add to this that Catra’s eyes are fixed upon Adora, and she’s wearing a smirk that’s more challenge than it is greeting.

Catra’s appearance is so disarming that it takes a second for Adora to even realise that Catra’s _hotness_ isn’t the issue here. What the fuck is she even doing at the Brightmoon launch party? _That’s_ the issue.

It’s Angella, of all people, who answers that question with her next words.

“Of course, every great hero needs a great adversary. This season, we’ve made the trailblazing decision to cast a guest dancer in this role…”

This is the moment where Adora begins to connect the dots. If her heart hadn’t stopped when she’d seen Catra in that suit, it definitely does now. She hopes it’s a misunderstanding, hopes Angella won’t go on to say what Adora thinks she might.

Angella does, though.

She continues, “Anyone following the headlines will be familiar with the ongoing rivalry between the company and our friends across the city, the Horde Ballet Company. In this new work, we hope to capture the spirit of conflict, while acknowledging conflicts of our own. I am therefore thrilled to announce that the role of Force Captain will be originated by the Horde’s Catra Ramírez, guesting with us this season from HBC.”

Adora needs to take a second to repeat that last part in her head.

_Catra_

_Ramírez_

_Guesting_

_From_

_HBC._

While Adora’s brain works overtime getting her up to speed, Catra doesn’t need time to adjust. She’s ready. Pushing off from her spot by the bookcase, she makes her way confidently towards them, shakes Angella’s outstretched hand and gives her a double-cheek kiss. Woodenly, Adora holds a hand out for Catra to take, knowing she’ll be expected to give the same greeting.

Catra takes Adora’s hand next and leans in to brush her lips across her cheek, and Adora has to work pretty hard to keep from glancing down at all those undone buttons. The touch feels familiar and foreign at the same time, and Adora finds herself fighting against a shiver that runs down her spine. Catra’s perfume used to be the most comforting smell on the planet, now it gathers unpleasantly in Adora’s nose like smoke, too close and too perfect. As Catra’s lips brush one cheek, and then the other, she whispers into Adora’s ear.

“Hey Adora. Miss me?”

“Catra…” Adora mutters stupidly, mouth still hanging open. She has nothing more intelligible of offer. The room is still filled with fluttering applause, so at least Adora can be sure her voice won’t carry past Catra.

Still taking Adora’s rigid expression as social anxiety, Angella gives her a warm smile and raises her glass of champagne.

“To a beautiful partnership, ladies. I have a good feeling about you two.”

“I’ll second that,” Catra says, raising her glass first to meet Angella’s, and then Adora’s.

Catra smiles then, a smile that only looks mocking if you’ve known her for as long as Adora has. It’s her _I’m the cat and you’re the mouse_ smile. Adora does feel a little mouse-y right now.

With the gentle _clink_ of Catra’s glass against hers in her ears, Adora finally takes a drink of the untouched champagne she’s been carrying around all night. She empties the glass, because, well, she doubts it could make this situation worse. It goes down smooth.

“A beautiful partnership,” Adora mutters to herself, still bewildered. When Angella continues with her speech, Adora leans to Catra slightly, and asks in a low, tired voice, “I don’t suppose you come in peace?”

Catra’s grin widens, as though she’s thrilled that Adora has caught on so quickly. Without even moving her lips from their winning smile, Catra replies, “Not a chance, Princess. I’m here to get even.”

_Right. Okay._

“Excuse me a minute,” Adora says, breathless. She steps off the dais and, turning into the crowd, is gone from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mic drop*


End file.
